


Black and Blue

by darter_blue, the1918



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Sex, Army Intelligence Steve Rogers, Bloodplay, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bratty Sub Bucky, CIA Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve, Enemies to Lovers, Knifeplay, M/M, Rough Sex, Steve is Secretly Soft for Bucky, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1918/pseuds/the1918
Summary: They’ve been doing this dance for weeks. In and out of buildings just like this all around their matching assignment in Bucharest, industrial, abandoned, dark and damp and so full of promise. The promise of pain and blood is more fun than Bucky has had in so long. He doesn’t remember the last time he did something this reckless. It’s addictive.He pulls a little harder at the hair gripped between his fingers and feels the hand around his jaw tighten in response. There are lips against his ear.‘Oh you know you can’t hurt me, baby, you’re just a little mouse under my paw,’ Rogers whispers the words and Bucky doesn't want to shiver, doesn’t mean to give it away so easy, but fuck if this asshole doesn’t hit him right in that sweet spot.Everything about him just feels so fucking perfect. Bucky hates it.***CIA Agent Bucky Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers, Army 207th, Military Intelligence, are two American spies working for two different intelligence agencies. They've developed somewhat of complicated relationship while chasing down the same leads.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 61
Kudos: 448





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Hani ([HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanitrash) / [@hanitrash](https://hanitrash.tumblr.com/))! We present you with the grittiest shit we could come up with...

* * *

The knife pressing against Bucky’s jugular is well-sharpened; well-kept. He can feel that much is true even when it’s only biting into his skin instead of breaking it.

It feels nice, sure. He still wishes that the teeth on the big, blond Adonis holding it were biting his neck instead.

‘That all you got, soldier?’ Bucky spits into the concrete wall he’s facing, tightening the hand in his assailant’s hair behind him. ‘Threats? Get your fucking knife in me.’

There’s half a second of hesitation audible in the breathing on his neck, but Bucky gets what he’s asked for. There’s a growl against his ear, and then the sharp blade moves down an inch and half and slices two thin lines across his collarbone. 

‘Is it good, Barnes?’ that rough voice asks. ‘That enough for you to finally squeeze my cock right?’

They’ve been doing this dance for weeks. In and out of buildings just like this all around their matching assignment in Bucharest, industrial, abandoned, dark and damp and so full of promise. The promise of pain and blood is more fun than Bucky has had in so long. He doesn’t remember the last time he did something this reckless. It’s addictive.

He pulls a little harder at the hair gripped between his fingers and feels the hand around his jaw tighten in response. There are lips against his ear.

‘Oh you know you can’t hurt me, baby, you’re just a little mouse under my paw,’ Rogers whispers the words and Bucky doesn't want to shiver, doesn’t mean to give it away so easy, but fuck if this asshole doesn’t hit him right in that sweet spot.

Everything about him just feels so fucking _perfect._ Bucky _hates_ it.

(He loves it.)

‘Oh, _Barnes_ ,’ the whispers continue, so condescending, ‘Is that what you want? Me to hold you down, keep you helpless?’ He punctuates the words by letting go of Bucky’s jaw, grabbing him by the neck and shoving his face into the rough surface. ‘Make the big, bad, Winter Soldier my little _bitch_.’

And Bucky has to be forgiven for the moan that escapes him, has to be forgiven for the way his hips push back against the fucking _giant_ , fat cock inside him. Stretching him so wide, filling him so deep. His face is scraping up against the wall, scratches that will fade in hours, finger shaped bruises marking up his neck, no doubt, that might even last a day. And his ass is pressing back into the soldier behind him, pushing for more, desperate for it. 

Goddamn fucking _asshole_ Rogers, making Bucky lose his fucking mind right here in the middle of a high-profile espionage mission. 

But fuck if he isn’t going down without a fight. 

Bucky takes a breath and pulls his hips away at the same time as he lets go of Rogers’ hair. His metal arm is still held tight behind his back, but he uses the second he’s gained by Rogers’ surprise, slams his elbow back into his face and spins around, Steve letting go of his arm as he does, smacking Bucky back against the wall, hand to his chest.

‘Oh, honey,’ Bucky says, looking Steve in the eye, ‘Didn't the military teach you how to fuck like a soldier?’

Steve’s eyes are feral, his pupils blown wide, the blue around them just a ring of cold fire, he steps in closer so their chests are touching, grabs Bucky’s arms and pulls them up above his head, holds them there with one hand. ‘Do I need to teach you to keep your fucking mouth shut, Barnes?’ He lifts Bucky by the thigh, ripping his pants at the seam trying to get better access to his hole, shoves his cock in so hard Bucky’s gonna have to stand for a week. 

And when Bucky smiles, he smiles like he has Steve’s fucking number. Like he has Steve on a goddamn string.

‘That’s right, you _must_ be a soldier,’ he grits out. ‘So loud for me, so aggressive. So very ostentatious. Can’t keep your position or your I.D. a secret even when your life depends on it. Isn’t that right?’ Bucky sneers, leaning forward to bite down on Rogers’ lip hard enough to make it bleed. ‘One little CIA agent got you pinned down after an easy search. _Steven Grant Rogers_ ,’ he sneers, ‘Captain of the 207th , Army Intelligence. A shitty excuse for a spy— _ah!’_ Steve pulls out and then slams the fuck back in, hard, and Bucky’s whole body jolts from the hit. ‘And a shitty fuck. Didn’t say that last part in your file, though.’

Steve’s holding Bucky’s thigh against his hip, trapping his hands over his head and he keeps his eyes on Bucky’s as he pulls out again and stabs that cock into Bucky, over and over again, so huge it’s dragging against Bucky’s prostate.‘Doesn’t seem to stop you from crawling back for _more_ ,’ he grunts, slamming in harder on the last word. ‘Or is it just this fat dick you can’t get enough of, huh? That it? Such as fucking cockslut that you don’t care who’s fucking you with it, so long as you get to choke on it?’

The hands around Bucky’s wrists are rubbing him raw against the concrete, the handle of the knife digging into his pulse point, and the pain, radiating out, feeding back into the pleasure, riding Bucky right to the edge, it's so good he wants to close his eyes, but he can’t let Steve win.

And Steve must be close, must be about to flood Bucky with his come, when an alarm in Steve’s pocket starts to sound. And Steve motherfucking Rogers just pulls right out and steps the fuck away.

He holds a finger up to Bucky like ‘hold please, I need to take this real quick.’ while Bucky leans back against the wall and tries to find his feet.

‘Yeah sorry Barnes,’ he says after putting his phone away. ‘I gotta go, we got new intel.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

‘We’ll pick this up next time, yeah?’

‘The fuck we will, asshole!’

They do.

—

Bucky holds out. He holds out for a few days. It’s enough time for Nat to get up his ass about the intel that Rogers got the jump on. Long enough for Fury to glare his one eye at Bucky and huff away with too much attitude and not enough actual information.

Bucky knows two things. He needs to get his head back in the fucking game. And he needs to stop fucking Steven Grant Rogers. Or letting Rogers fuck him. Because this time he didn’t just fuck Bucky, he fucked him over. This time the intel Bucky was supposed to be snatching from the warehouse went to Army intelligence—because Bucky was too busy getting railed against the wall by a supersoldier to realise there was someone else in the building. 

‘I’m disappointed in you James,’ Nat says, as Bucky sits next to her in the briefing room. Spilling his coffee and swearing at the useless excuse for a lid on his keep cup. 

He looks away from the mess to Nat and gives her a flat stare. He ignores her smirk to steal a napkin from Clint, asleep behind his dark glasses, to mop up the coffee and lob the used paper into the waste paper basket. 

‘Letting your little boyfriend to the tapes first? Rookie mistake, kid.’ Nat is shaking her head at him, and Bucky would take more offense to being called a kid by someone two years younger than him, if he wasn’t so busy trying to block out the memory of Rogers’ hands on him. His knife slicing into Bucky’s skin. His fat, heavy cock, so deep inside of Bucky. And the way he had just pulled right out to take that call. To steal that intel from under Bucky’s fucking nose.

And Nat might be teasing him, might be looking to get a rise out of him, but she’s not wrong.

It was a rookie mistake.

And Bucky won’t be making it again.

Except he does.

—

This time they’re in an unused subway tunnel, looking for the entrance to some subterranean access shafts. Nat is investigating the tunnels behind them, heading in the opposite direction. She doesn’t even know Rogers is here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Central Intelligence were meant to be the only ones with this intel. 

But he is here. Alone. And he’s looking at Bucky, eying him up and down, dressed in that same fucking uniform that makes Bucky crazy, navy blue and fitted, molded over the definition of all that muscle. Of all that strength. Strength Bucky has been on the receiving end of too many times now. 

Bucky turns off the mic on his comm.

‘Are you following me?’ Bucky asks. Stupidly, because what is the guy gonna say? ‘Yes’? ‘Sure James, I’ve put a tracker on you, how bout you bend right over for me and I’ll retrieve it’?

Jesus, he’s losing it.

‘I had a tip off…’ Rogers says. And Bucky is surprised by how tentative he sounds. How hesitant he looks to step closer.

‘From whom?’ Bucky asks, again knowing he won’t be answered.

‘You don’t have your red-head with you.’

‘She’s not _mine_ , Rogers,’ Bucky snaps, angry on Nat’s behalf. 

‘Oh no?’

And it’s so fucking slick, the guy is so fucking smug, Bucky wants to wipe that look off his face. So he takes a step forward, jumps down onto the old track, half filled in with dirt, enough that the platform only reaches Bucky’s waist. He takes another step and Rogers stands his ground, his feet wide and his hands at his sides, and Bucky’s hand is reaching out for him, runs itself down the centre of Rogers’ chest.

‘You think you can own people, Rogers?’ Bucky lets his hand trail down to Roger’s crotch, lets it fit itself around that massive cock, growing harder by the second under Bucky’s hand. ‘You think this is ever gonna be enough to let you own somebody?’

Rogers ducks his head close to Bucky’s face, hands still by his sides, and leans in close to Bucky’s ear. ‘I could own you, sweetheart.’

‘You could try.’

Bucky is quick, but Rogers is quicker.

And he’s strong— _god_ he’s so fucking strong.

All it takes is Rogers grabbing him by the collar. All it takes is Rogers lifting him off his feet, dragging him across the dirt and spinning him around to bend him over the platform, pressing his face into the concrete, and Bucky is ready to give him anything. 

‘This is what you really want isn’t it?’ Rogers says, so calm, so controlled, the words sliding right down Bucky’s spine, ‘You want me to prove it to you, James? That you belong to me now?’

‘Couldn’t even finish what you started,’ Bucky says, struggling to form the words with his face pressed into the concrete.

‘What was that?’ Rogers says, voice gone ice cold.

Bucky twists his face up to Rogers as much as he can, ‘You left me pretty fucking unsatisfied, Rogers, you don’t own shit. I’ve had better sex with my hand.’

Rogers has one hand pinning Bucky’s metal arm behind his back, the other he lifts off the back of Bucky’s head to reach down for Bucky’s own knife in its sheath, slide it free, run it along Bucky's spine, up to the back of his neck.

‘Is that what you want, sweetheart?’ he says, pressing the knife into the skin, deep enough to cut, ‘You want me to make you come? Is that what it takes to own you, baby?’

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, something bratty, something to push his buttons, but Rogers has the knife to his lips before he can make a sound.

‘No.’

Bucky twists again, tries to look back and behind him, and all he can see of Rogers is his face right over Bucky’s.

‘This time you do what I say. This time you keep this pretty mouth shut.’

And Bucky wants to push back, but the command is there, it's so precise, it’s so certain, Bucky can't even help himself. Everything in him goes slack. Everything in him wants to do whatever this man tells him to do.

Rogers runs the knife back down to Bucky’s waist. Slides it through the leather of his belt to cut it free, tugs at Bucky’s pants and briefs together, pulling them down over his ass, down to his thighs. He runs the edge of the knife along the skin of Bucky’s inner thigh and Bucky has to bite down on the moan that wants to escape him.

‘I’ve been dreaming about these thighs,’ Rogers says, voice thick like syrup, ‘dreaming about wrapping them around me, dreaming about marking ten perfect little bruises into them with my fingers.’

‘Fuck,’ Bucky breathes, can’t stop himself. God, he’s been dreaming about that too.

‘Gonna hold you nice and tight just like this, little one,’ and fuck fuck _fuck_ , Bucky’s dick hurts, ‘and you’re gonna do what I fucking tell you, right baby? Just like a good little slut.’

‘Fuck you,’ Bucky says, but it’s total bullshit. Rogers is laughing at him at how fucking unconvincing that sounds.

‘Oh no, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck _you_. Fuck you so good you’ll be begging me. Fuck you so good you’ll be screaming my name.’ And he has the knife right under Bucky’s balls. Bucky can’t move. Doesn’t want to.

‘I don’t even remember your name, asshole.’

And that sure gets a bite. Rogers throws the knife down and yanks Bucky’s head back by his hair, fist tight in Bucky’s locks. He presses his lips to the sweet spot below Bucky's ear, pulls his lips away to whisper, ‘You fucking do.’

Bucky makes a strangled noise at the pleasure-pain shooting down into his nervous system, but he likes to make him work just that little bit harder.

_'Say it,'_ Rogers snarls into his ear.

'Steve,' Bucky sighs it like a promise. Like a prayer.

And Steve shoves his fingers into Bucky’s mouth to slick them up, then pulls them free, kisses Bucky on the mouth, hard, biting at him with sharp teeth, and teases his wet finger over Bucky’s hole. Slides that finger in as he sucks at Bucky’s bottom lip and then dives back in to bite again.

And Bucky opens up to it. To Steve’s kiss, to his fingers. To the sheer mass of him pushing Bucky’s body into the platform. He uses his hips to grind back onto Steve’s finger, begging for more with his urgency, desperate to be full of all of Steve's bulk, around and inside him. 

And Steve gives it to him, all of it. Slides a second finger in, a third, all of them wet with some lubricant this prepared fucking soldier produces from nowhere, and he lets Bucky's arm go to open his own uniform and free that fat cock, so huge and hard for Bucky. Slides a condom onto it from somewhere, stashed away in his stupid fucking suit like he planned this. Bucky can feel it pressing at his hole and he pushes back against it, reaches for it.

'You want it now, don't you baby? Want me to split you open on my cock James?'

'Bucky,' Bucky whispers his own name into Steve's mouth, licking up into it, arching his back to chase Steve’s lips.

But Steve pulls back, looks down at him, eyebrows raised. And Bucky can't help but smile at how stupidly adorable that is. It should be terrifying, what Steve could really do to him if he wanted. But it’s not. Bucky isn't scared of him at all.

'Bucky, my name. I like Bucky.'

He doesn’t know why he says it when it goes against every single instinct he has as a spy; as a man. It’s not the knife against his skin—or maybe it is, but not because of the threat. Maybe it’s the weight of the heavy knowledge that’s been beating down on him lately, the reality of their situation: Steven Grant Rogers is the only man he’s ever met that can match Bucky in strength, even overpower him. Maybe there’s a depth in that connection that he’s underestimated.

Or maybe Bucky’s just gone too damn soft, and now he’s breaking under pretty, muscular blonds with rugged beards and sharp knives. 

Either way, his words have Steve crashing his mouth into Bucky’s. He pulls his fingers free, and before Bucky can miss the feeling, the fullness, he lines up and slams his cock all the way home in Bucky’s ass.

It's like a switch has been flipped; Steve is feral. All his actions are sharp and violent, bruising, pinching, yanking at his hair, but his words are soft, he keeps his tone low and smooth like syrup. And all the while Bucky wants to talk back, wants to play the game, but it feels so real, he’s barely hanging on, his mind wants to float away. He lets Rogers pull his head back, lets him kiss slowly up his throat, across his jaw, lets him lick the blood right off his mouth.

'This is how you're mine Bucky, this is how I own you, when you give in so easy for me. When you take it so sweet, baby.'

And Bucky can't, he just can't let him get it so easily. He doesn't even think, just snaps back with his head into Rogers face to get some breathing room, to get his head on right, and then he gets his hands on the platform to press his weight down and push his ass up further into Rogers, force his cock in deeper, find his own prostate, and hold that position. 

Steve grabs Bucky at the hips, digging his fingers in like he promised. And he slams himself in again and again until Bucky can’t hold it, can't hold the fire building its way through his blood. Can't hold the pleasure from taking over, from consuming him. From crashing over him. 

He comes.

And with that, Steve pulls out and turns Bucky around, sending him to his knees with strong hands on his shoulders. Bucky knows that his own slick bottom lip is gleaming red up at Steve where he’d bitten down earlier.

‘You can't get enough of this dick can you?’ Steve asks, pulling off the condom they don’t even need with their enhanced immunity. ‘Not such a hard, cold little spy, are you Bucky? I want your mouth on me. I want my cock warm with all that blood, sweetheart.’

Bucky doesn’t get a chance to answer, which is just as well; he doesn’t have a smart-ass response. Steve grabs his jaw and forces it open, shoving his thick cock all the way to the back of his throat without regard for the scrape of teeth against his own sensitive shaft. He wastes no time before fucking Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky can feel the pathetic stream of drool dribblimg down either side of his chin. He imagines how it must look as it mixes pink with his blood, wonders how much Steve likes seeing it. 

It’s not long before Steve comes down his throat, and when he pulls out he stands back, Bucky is dazed, high, and he's forgotten why they're here, forgotten all of the promises he made himself. Until he gets a view of the wall behind him, can see where there is brick that isn’t flush with the surrounding brick. And suddenly he knows this is the access shaft entrance he and Nat have been searching for. That _Steve_ has been searching for, too.

He looks up at Steve. And Steve hasn’t noticed.

Steve is looking down at Bucky. Looking at him with an unreadable expression—but if Bucky had to guess he would say fondness. He doesn’t understand how that could be right. 

Steve reaches down with his thumb to wipe at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Lifts his thumb to his own lips to suck at the come and blood there. And then he stares. He just stares at Bucky, who isn’t moving. Who can see the entrance he knows they’re both looking for behind Steve, but can’t put his eyes to, lest Steve track the movement. So he looks back up into his eyes instead. Watches as Steve brings that thumb back down to Bucky’s mouth and slides it in slowly. 

And Bucky could tell you that he curls his tongue around that thumb to distract Steve from the wall behind them. He could tell you that he’s on his knees here to let Steve use him and then leave him, to get his fun and disappear. He could tell you that this is all a game. But that would be a lie. He’s fascinated by the way Steve’s pupils blow out. By the way his breathing has picked up, by the way his heart rate has increased.

He’s fascinated by everything about this man.

He just fucked Bucky so good he won’t be able to sit down for a week. Spun him around and fucked his face and came down his throat with his fingers around Bucky’s neck. 

But this… Bucky using his tongue to gently draw Steve’s thumb into his mouth, Bucky softly sucking on that long, surprisingly delicate appendage with reverence. _That’s_ got Steve all blissed out?

Bucky should be moving this along. He should be getting rid of Steve so he can buy himself a fucking win. 

But he can’t. He wants to see what will happen when he brings his hands up slowly to pull Steve's thumb free. When he turns his palm over and lays a soft kiss there. 

He doesn’t get the push back he’s expecting. He doesn’t get a cold dismissal.

He gets Steve Rogers' mouth open with a long exhale. He gets him licking his lips. He gets him carding his other hand through Bucky’s long hair, stepping in closer, tracing fingers across his bruised cheekbone, already healing.

Jumping back as soon as he hears Nat come through the comms.

‘Soldat, I’ve got nothing down here,’ her voice comes through, clear and too loud against the silence between him and Steve. ‘What about you? Should we call it?’

‘Give me five, I’ll meet you at the entrance.’

And that seems to have been enough to break the spell. Steve is backing away. Hand on his ear. Speaking low and sharp into his wrist. Looking spooked. 

Bucky doesn't try to stop him. He watches him go. Waits for him to get out of hearing range, and then he’s up and off his knees, gingerly, and crouching against the spot low on the wall. Getting his metal fingers into the brick. Pulling at what’s loose. And thank fucking god. 

If he’d gone back to Fury empty handed again after this… He shakes his head to the empty air. He’s getting sloppy.

It can’t happen again.

Can it?

—

What Bucky needs and what Bucky wants don’t seem to be lining up right lately.

Bucky _needs_ to stop thinking about the look on Rogers’—Steve’s—face when Bucky had taken his thumb into his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. He needs to stop imagining what it would be like to kiss Steve just as gently on the mouth, or how it would feel to have Steve kiss him back for some purpose other than to dominate him completely or to make his lips bleed. He needs to stop dreaming about Steve fucking him somewhere that doesn’t involve Bucky’s back against concrete or a dirty room that smells like rat piss. 

But what Bucky _wants_ are answers. He wants to know why Steve had looked at him like that in the first place. He wants to find out why he can’t stop thinking about a goddamned soldier pretending to be a real spy. He wants to know if that soldier thinks about him, too. 

For once, Bucky’s weak. 

For once, the want wins. 

He hopes that doesn’t mean losing himself. 

—

Bucky knows that Army Intelligence is following a bad lead. He knows this because he’s a damn good agent, and because he vets his intel like he’s performing surgery before doing the espionage equivalent of jumping off a plane without a parachute. He knows that this particular old, Romanian warehouse—bombed out in the Second World War—is an empty hull of an abandoned cell with potentially booby trapped halls. 

He knows all of this, and yet, here Bucky is: climbing into a broken window—he gets sloppy, he cuts his hand on the glass—from the roof on an off-the-books solo mission. He’s yet to define the parameters of the mission for himself. 

Bucky makes sure to get his post set up early so he can watch Steve Rogers roll in after nightfall. He watches the night-vision feed from the drone he’d parked up the hill as Steve and his handler arrive in their stealth vehicle, and then that hulking mass of muscle is donning all black and moving silently towards the building like he isn’t a walking, talking beast. 

And then he’s out of the drone’s vision—Bucky can’t risk moving it, not with Wilson right there—so Bucky is in blackout until he can catch sight of Steve himself. He waits, perched in the dark doorway of what looks like it was once an office, for any sign of life. 

Bucky is just thinking that Steve should have appeared by now when suddenly he’s in a chokehold that isn’t meant to choke at all, and the cold edge of a knife is pressing against his cheek. 

‘I don’t know what they put in their serum over there at Langley,’ comes the rough voice in his ear, ‘but the Army did more than just grant me muscles and speed. They enhanced my sense of smell.’ Steve takes Bucky’s cut hand and raises it up to his own face, lowering his voice to a growl. ‘I know what your blood smells like, Barnes.’

‘Bucky,’ comes his answer, a correction. 

Steve stiffens against him for a moment, then relaxes, tugging Bucky into him tighter. His cock is already getting through the Army-issue kevlar.

‘Bucky, then,’ Steve husks. He pulls Bucky’s hand closer to his face, licking his bloody palm, groaning. ‘Smell like you taste, sweetheart. Smell like mine.’

Bucky makes a half-hearted attempt to elbow Steve’s gut, but his arm doesn’t budge even an inch out of the iron hold. Steve chuckles and uses the arm that’s not locked around Bucky’s neck to feel around his suit. Bucky knows he's looking for comms. 

‘What exactly are you doing here, little one?’ Steve asks when he finds none. ‘Surely you weren’t waiting for me…’

A hot flush fills Bucky’s face. He’s thankful it’s dark and he’s facing away. At least Steve doesn’t see it on him. 

‘Came to warn you,’ Bucky answers, breathless, but not because of the grip around his neck. ‘Your intel is shit, soldier.’

Steve freezes his lips where they’ve been dancing, teasing, around the shell of Bucky’s ear. His whole body goes straight as a board. 

‘That so?’ is his only response. ‘And how do you know what my intel is?’

‘Because I had the same intel, but I did my fucking _job_ , Steve. I ripped it apart to see what was inside, and I found that Strucker and Zola set up the safe house in Zagreb last May—not June.’

He lets the new information sink in with Steve; he knows he’ll come to the same conclusion. 

‘The second shipment wouldn’t have come from here,’ Steve deduces, exactly as Bucky had days ago. ‘It would have come from Zagreb. Fuck.’

Bucky nods as much as he can in the hold. ‘And you already know that Hydra sets traps in all their old haunts. The second you started going through those filing cabinets downstairs, you’d be dead.’ 

Steve is silent for a long while, but Steve’s grip never lets up. Bucky can see the definition of the veins in his muscular forearm and feel the light pressure of the knife on his cheek.

‘Why the hell are you here if you’re not chasing a target?’ Steve asks, a knowing breath in Bucky’s ear.

‘I wanted to warn—’

_‘Why_ , Bucky?’ Steve pulls the knife in almost hard enough to let out blood. Bucky considers pushing into it. ‘Tell me.’

‘I don’t know,’ he answers, quiet as he can be without the words coming out soundless. ‘Maybe I couldn’t stay away.’

Steve drops the knife. It clatters on the cracked concrete floor. 

The sound is still ringing out in Bucky’s ears when he’s flipped around, his back pushed hard against the doorframe. Steve’s palms are flat against the fronts of Bucky’s shoulders, his fingers curled around them in a steel-hard grip that would bruise if enhancements didn’t pulse in Bucky’s veins. 

‘Couldn’t stay away from _what?’_ Steve growls, caging him in. His blue eyes are dangerously dark as they sear over Bucky’s skin. It burns better than the slice of a knife. ‘My fat cock?’

Steve presses the hard line of his crotch against the joining of Bucky’s hip and thigh. Bucky can feel every inch of his flesh in the present just as well as he can feel it in his memories. 

‘Could be,’ Bucky breathes. Their faces are only inches away now. ‘Could be something else.’

Steve makes an almost animal sound as he crushes Bucky’s mouth with his own, tearing an embarrassing whine out of his throat. He slips his tongue inside instantly and licks at every confused, lust-hot space between Bucky’s lips and throat.

‘I told you,’ he bites out against Bucky’s lips. ‘I fuckin’ told you, Buck. I own you. You’re mine.’

Bucky’s tac pants and compression shorts get shoved down to his knees with military precision and efficiency as always, although there’s something different about Steve’s energy tonight. He’s desperate and impatient for something; almost frantic. Bucky follows every bit of his lead, hands weaving through Steve’s hair and beard so he can pull, tugging, urging their mouths to bruise each other’s lips even harder.

‘How are you gonna get fucked tonight?’ Steve rumbles, biting a pair of half-moon marks into Bucky’s neck. ‘Should I bend you over?’

‘Like this,’ Bucky gasps, tossing his head backwards against the door frame to give Steve more room to work on his skin. ‘Like this. Right here. Fuck your cock up into me—”

Steve rips his mouth away and cuts him off with a hand around his throat, but he doesn’t squeeze. Not this time. Steve just holds him and forces Bucky to look into his stormy, brooding eyes with blown pupils and red-shot whites. There’s an intensity in them Bucky hasn’t seen before. 

‘Wasn’t asking you,’ Steve says. ‘But—lucky for you—I think I agree.’

Bucky gets pinned further into the door frame before he knows what’s happening, Steve’s chest against his, Steve’s hands on the backs of his thighs to push his legs into his chest so he can divest Bucky of the rest of his bottoms and boots. Steve doesn’t let Bucky back down when he’s done; he wraps Bucky’s legs around his waist and makes him feel his hard groin directly against his bare balls and ass right there in that dilapidated warehouse. 

Steve spits lewdly on his fingers, rubbing them together in front of Bucky's face before lowering them to the crease of his ass. _‘Fuck,’_ he groans when his fingertips find Bucky’s hole. ‘Got my very own slut—don’t I, little one?’ Steve breaches him with two fingers, then three. ‘Getting yourself ready before showing up here tonight… Christ.’

The stretching is efficient but thorough, assisted by another of those lube packets Steve always seems to keep in his gear. Steve keeps his other hand against Bucky’s lower back while his mouth ravages the skin of his throat and leaves marks faster than they can fade. The knife glints up at them from the floor, lonely. 

‘Jesus, Steve,’ Bucky moans, watching him finally work open his pants and retrieve his fat fucking dick. ‘Get your goddamned— _fuck!’_

Steve slams into Bucky before he can finish his sentence. 

‘This?’ Steve says, pulling out fast and slamming in again, ‘This what you want in you? My cock inside you, filling you up, making you whole again?’

Bucky can’t deny it, it’s so fucking true. It’s all he wants lately. It’s all he thinks about.

Except it's not. It really isn’t. 

It’s part of it, wanting Steve inside him, wanting his bulk and his command and the sheer size of him dominating Bucky. But that’s just the surface of Bucky’s attraction. Beneath it there’s the desire to understand what’s behind the way Steve looks at Bucky. Behind the controlled violence he uses to contain Bucky without ever going too far, without ever pushing too hard. 

Steve has him trapped against the frame, his head buried in his throat, his hands clutching at his thighs, and as much as he’s fucking himself into Bucky, he’s pushing and pulling and fucking Bucky back onto himself. Pummeling him into the wood to grind Bucky down on his cock. But all Bucky can think is…

It’s not enough.

He puts a hand to the back of Steve’s head, running his fingers into the short, blond hair there, bares his throat to Steve as much as the frame behind him will allow, and he lets the words out on a breath, ‘I want all of you.’

Steve hears it, of course he does. And it’s a button pushed too far, because it happens then: Steve slows. Steve stops fucking Bucky up the wood so hard that it cuts into his back and instead slows his thrusting to a sensual, undulating crawl, removing his face from its feasting spot on Bucky’s throat in favor of pressing his nose into Bucky’s cheek. The change in mood is so sudden that Bucky goes breathless. 

‘Thought I was a “shitty fuck,” sweetheart? Seem to remember you telling me that while my cock was inside this tight ass.’ He slams in hard and pulls out slow, licking a hot, filthy stripe the side of Bucky’s face before taking his lips in an exacting kiss, breathing, ‘Don’t tell me you come to me for more than just cock?’

And oh—that hits too close. A fight or flight instinct flares up inside Bucky’s chest, and while he wants to choose neither and instead choose to melt, the agent in him chooses to fight. 

‘Why are _you_ here, Steve?’ he grits out through the slow, precise assault grinding over his prostate. ‘Are you really that shit of a spy that you missed how rotten your lead smelled?’

‘I should have caught that,’ Steve admits, hips faltering for less than a second. ‘Maybe I’ve been off my game.’ He runs a thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip as though he’s remembering the last time they’d met, when Bucky had taken it into his mouth. ‘Maybe I’ve been compromised.’

That thought rings through Bucky’s brain, all too familiar.

Compromised.

They’ve both been compromised by whatever this is that they're doing. 

But what if… what if they didn’t have to be?

Bucky brings his flesh hand around to push Steve’s face back. To look him in the eyes. Steve never stops the slow thrust of his hips, but Bucky has his attention. He doesn’t attempt to pull away.

‘Steve,’ he says, cupping Steve’s cheek, ‘I don’t want to be something that compromises you.’

And that, after everything, is enough to stop Steve. He freezes, Bucky has to hang on tighter to Steve’s shoulder with his metal arm.

‘What are you really doing here?’ Steve whispers. Staring at Bucky. Trying to read him.

‘I needed to make sure you’d be safe.’ Bucky watches as Steve’s eyebrows knit together. ‘I needed to protect you.’

Steve searches Bucky’s face, and whatever he’s looking for, he finds it. Whatever he finds there has him sigh into Bucky, slide all the way back inside him. Has him resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

‘What if we could find a way together, Steve?’ Bucky asks, quietly, carefully.

Steve’s hips pick up speed.

‘What if we didn’t have to fight each other, what if we could fight and fuck and do it for the same team?’

Steve is nodding, he’s nodding his head against Bucky’s and then he’s kissing Bucky, slow and soft and savoured. Licking into Bucky’s mouth like he’s trying to draw him in, like he wants Bucky to fall into him. And Bucky kisses him back the same. He sucks the plump flesh of Steve’s lips into his mouth, opens up to take more, to let Steve in, and their kisses get messy, hot and wet and barely more than just breathing the same air as Steve takes his time to tease the orgasm out of Bucky, to scrape along his nerves but never hit them directly, to bring him to the edge almost in tears.

His strokes are slow, purposeful, and his hands are softer now. They don’t bruise, they barely brush at Bucky’s skin. They hold him carefully. They carry him.

And Bucky can feel it build and slow, build and slow, as Steve takes his time. 

‘You are mine, aren’t you sweetheart.’ Steve isn’t asking, he’s telling Bucky. Gasping the words into Bucky’s mouth, both of them struggling for breath, both of them so far gone now. And Steve breaks away to pull Buky tighter, to whisper the words into Bucky’s ear, ‘I’m yours too.’

They come like that together.

Steve lets him down gently when they come back to themselves. Helps Bucky back to standing, and Bucky lets him. Lets himself be cleaned up, dressed, brushed off and patted down and leant back into the wall to keep propped, while Steve runs his hands over the bruises on his face, his throat, and lays a gentle kiss to his lips.

‘You really mean it don’t you,’ Steve says, still looking at Bucky with a frown. Like he _shouldn’t_ believe him but he _does_. 

‘I want to fight _with_ you.’ Bucky means every word of it.It just doesn’t make sense for them not to work together. It never did. ‘I want us to be on the same team.’

‘I want that too,’ Steve says, leaning into Bucky, ‘I want you so much.’

‘I know,’ Bucky says, smiling up at him. And the nonplussed eyebrow he receives in return is a beautiful thing.

Steve doesn’t bother to step back when he switches his mic back on. Lifts his wrist to his lips.

‘Falcon, this is bad intel, we need to retreat, regroup.’

‘Where are you, Cap?’ Bucky hears Steve’s handler’s voice through the speaker in his ear. ‘What do you mean it’s bad?’

‘It’s a hydra trap, get someone to shut it down. I’m gonna disappear for a bit, see if I can catch wind of anything.’

Steve’s watching Bucky through the whole conversation and Bucky has his breath held, waiting to see what Steve’s next move will be.

‘Yeah okay, but check back in. I don’t want to have to send out a search party.’

‘Will do. Good luck.’

‘Don’t do anything too stupid out there, old ma--’

Steve switches off before Wilson can finish.

He threads his fingers through Bucky’s hand and pulls him away from the wall. ‘Come on, let's get you somewhere I can clean you up properly.’

Bucky doesn’t know why that has his blood pumping so suddenly. Only that Steve is taking him somewhere that he feels is safe. Somewhere Steve can take care of him.

Steve wants him.

Steve _trusts_ him.

And Bucky didn’t know he needed that so badly. But he can feel it. It’s enough.

This, now.

It’s enough. 

\--

  
  


Sam stands on the roof with his finger on his earpiece. Steve has cut him off. And he’d bristle about it more if he wasn’t smiling. He’d be pissed if he didn’t know how much Steve needs this. 

Whatever it is he and Barnes are doing has changed something in him. Lit a fire in him. 

Sam likes to see it.

He’s been waiting to for a long time.

He shakes his head and switches frequency to his other channel. Waits to hear the telltale static of the live mic. ‘Yo Romanov,’ he says, barely holding back the huff of laughter, ‘Looks like I owe you that hundred bucks.’

The smoky, smooth, ‘Of course you do,’ in reply has him chuckling to an empty rooftop.

Of course he does.


End file.
